


new therapy

by heartsfilthylesson



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsfilthylesson/pseuds/heartsfilthylesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s almost like she didn’t run from him, like she didn’t run with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	new therapy

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr prompt "Bedannibal: Doggy Style"

Hannibal requests they resume their sessions and she agrees without much thought. Her ethics have been compromised beyond salvation and returning to their old roles might help define their evolving relationship, might provide them with much needed distance.

Every Monday and Friday near five pm they rearrange their spacious sitting room to simulate her old home. His chair faces floor-to-ceiling windows and she wears a gold watch and it’s almost like she didn’t run from him, like she didn’t run with him.

“I believe we’re out of time,” she says one Friday afternoon after fifty minutes of long, awkward pauses. Hannibal doesn’t move, merely looks at her like he doesn’t see her every day. The light filtering in catches in his sculpted cheekbones, reflects off his strange coloured eyes and gleams around him so he looks almost mystical, equal parts demon and god. She clears her throat, somewhat unsettled, and glances at her wrist. Almost six. She waits for him to rise.

“Why do you hide from me?”  He asks conversationally, lets his gaze sweep over her freely.

Bedelia catches herself before she huffs but the slight quirk of his mouth shows he noticed. “I’m your psychiatrist, you’re not mine.” She recalls those very words from months ago, months that feel like years and decades and lifetimes.  

He hums and stands but rather walking towards the kitchen for a bottle of red, he walks towards her.

The low sun casts odd shadows across his features and when he bends down, a hand reaching for her neck, she thinks he will finally kill her. Her pulse speeds up as his fingers graze the thin flesh of her throat but she tilts up her chin and holds his gaze, unafraid. There’s no snap of bones like twigs in a forest, no all-encompassing darkness: it’s his mouth on hers, warm and undemanding.

She neither kisses him back nor pushes him away. Uncertainty and lust gather within her but  Bedelia knows it’s a losing fight so she twines her hand in the back of his hair and pulls him closer.

They undress each other without finesse, buttons flying and zippers catching. Too many years of clinical detachment, too many months of entombed lust for leisure. She wants every inch of him hard and fast and now.

The old floor is cold beneath her flushed skin, Hannibal pressed above her, lips and hands everywhere but it’s not enough.

“Hannibal,” she half-pants and he smiles. His expression changes as he positions himself, something like affection in the quirk of his mouth, like warmth in his heavy-lidded eyes. It’s more than she can stand. She won’t have him like this.

A hand on his bare chest halts him and he lifts an eyebrow in question. She shrugs lightly but offers no explanation, simply sits up and turns away from him, palms flat and knees digging into hard, unforgiving marble.

He enters her slowly, fingers pressing into her hips with force. It’s too little, his rhythm unhurried and she urges him on. Something like a growl tumbles from his lips and dulls the pain of marble against bone when he quickens the pace.

A jerk of his hips and he seeks her clit but she lowers onto her forearms and pushes his hand away, uses her own fingers instead. A few quick, firm circles and she pinches her eyes shut as an orgasm runs through her. She hears him grunt when he reaches his own.

Hannibal lowers himself beside her prone form. “Bedelia,” he says, breath hot against her ear, and runs his fingers down blonde hair, smoothes his palms across her back. “You never answered my question.”

She pretends not to hear.


End file.
